


Listening To Demons

by SVG67



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Genre: Gen, John Reese - Freeform, POV First Person, Person of Interest, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SVG67/pseuds/SVG67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Reese can't get Kara Stanton out of his head. Her words, her wounding words, still haunt him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listening To Demons

“What are you staring at?” she asked.

“I’d forgotten how beautiful you are. Your skin. It’s like porcelain. Almost translucent.”

“You, on the other hand, look terrible,” she said. “Living must not agree with you.”

“When I first met you, you weighed what, a hundred pounds?”

“A hundred and twenty.”

“You looked so fragile. I thought you would break. I thought if I looked into your eyes too long -- I’d never wake up.”

“You really know how to charm a girl, John. Would it have killed you to mention this a little earlier?”

“After awhile, I realized, you were just as cold and hard as the porcelain doll you looked like. Except when you were flushed with a kill. You’re like a changeling -- from a vampire novel.”

He could see her clearly. There was never a moment when she wasn’t demanding and difficult to please. But, God -- in bed. The first time they had sex was in Paris. Her idea of foreplay was her arm across his throat and a gun to his head. Two dead bodies, still warm after the kill, lay in the bar below them. Didn’t matter. The smell of blood, and gunpowder, semen and her. He never could forget it.

“You’re comparing me to a vampire? You should talk.”

“They’re beautiful, Kara, like you. They’re skilled and dangerous and they kill. They live in the darkness, like you and me. They’re unredeemable monsters. Like you. Like me.”

“Don’t get all weepy on me John. You loved killing just as much as I did. I saw it in your eyes.” 

Kara smiled her impish smile and said ever so sweetly, “Don’t you remember? You told me you loved your job.”

He also told her he loved her. And he meant it. Though not in the same way that he loved Jessica. It was like he was two people. The boy-scout in him, as Kara called it, just loved the blond, frail, little thing that was so dependent upon him. She needed him so much. He couldn’t get enough of her. But he was afraid for her. He knew he had another side.

“Unfortunately, John, you had to be such a wuss about it. Why couldn’t you just accept it? We were evil. We lived in darkness. So what? We did our job. What we were told to do. What we were born to do. For the good of everyone else.”

Kara put on her impish smile again. “As a matter of fact, you still are. You’re still evil John. Still a monster. There’s no redemption for you. How could you even think it was possible?”

“I know,” he said softly.

He threw his arm across his eyes. He tried to block her out.

“What do you know?” she asked. “That you’re an evil monster who deserves to be in the dark. That you’re not even human, anymore. The only thing you’re really good at is killing. And you can’t even do that right.”

“Mr. Reese. Where are you?”

“In here Finch.”

What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

Finch looked around the room. It was dim. The only light came through the stained glass windows set high above the back wall. There was a bedroll stashed in a corner and John lay on it. One arm flung over his eyes. Finch watched him lie there, barely breathing. After Grace and Nathan, Finch never thought he would care for another human being again.

A stack of books sat on the floor next to John’s head. And a lamp, next to those. And a notebook. A pile of crumpled paper and empty coffee cups had been tossed carelessly into the adjacent corner. There was no furniture, no closet, and no door. Every available wall space was given over to shelves and shelves of books. Each shelf was packed and shoved with as many books as possible. It was one of the smaller rooms in the library, down the hall from Finch’s den of computers. It was cold. The heat never seemed to reach this far in. It smelled like old paper and glue. And wax. And dust.

Finch was standing in the archway, hands on his hips. “I don’t know why you insist on staying here in this dismal room, John, when you have a perfectly serviceable apartment. Don’t you like it?”

“Yes, Finch,” said John, talking into his arm. 

Finch looked at the pile of trash in the corner. “You know, we do have receptacles for used paper and coffee cups. They’re called wastebaskets, John.”

“Harold,” he asked, “can I help you with something?”

“Well, I just made an appointment for Bear with the vet. I’m going to need help, so I thought, with your busy schedule and all -- ” Finch, let his voice drop.

“Appointment. Bear. Got it.”

Finch continued to stand in the archway.

“Yes, Finch?”

“Have you spoken to detective Carter, recently?”

“Sure. She helped out with the last number.”

“No. I mean about the situation with Kara and your unpleasant experience at Rikers.”

John lowered his arm and stared at the ceiling. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Only Finch could categorize a bomb vest as a “situation” and time in prison as “unpleasant.

“It was a traumatic experience, John, in case you hadn’t noticed. For both of you. And while we’re on the subject, for me too. And Bear. And possibly Fusco.” Finch was becoming a little put out. 

“You don’t go out, except to help with the numbers. Unless I drag you out. You hardly eat. You almost never play with Bear. All you do is stay in this room and read.

John sat up in one fluid motion. “Your point, Finch?”

“There must be someone you could talk to, about what happened. In general terms, of course.”

“Of course,” said John.

John stood up swiftly and smoothly, all in the same movement. Without pausing or stopping, he picked up his coat off of the floor, put it on and reached under his pillow for his gun. He slipped it into his left side pocket. In a few easy strides, John was standing in front of Finch.

“What’s wrong? Where are you going?"

John put a hand gently onto his shoulder. He gave Finch his most annoyingly, patronizing smile. “You want me to go out. I’m going out.”

“Well, take Bear with you. He could use some fresh air.”

“Not this time. Maybe later.”

“You keep saying that,” said Finch.

As John left the library, Finch called after him, “You’re going to have to talk to somebody sooner or later.” 

When there was no answer, Finch looked at Bear. “He’s going to have to talk to somebody and it better be soon.”

_____

John pulled his car out onto the side street and headed toward the warehouse. As soon as he did, he heard Kara’s voice. He glanced into his rear view mirror. She was sitting in the back seat, smiling that disarming half-smile of hers. Her long eyelashes framing her eyes. He could almost smell her perfume. A heavy, exotic scent, like orchids, with something spicy, like cardamon -- and musk. She’d had it specially blended just for her, when they were in Paris.

“So that’s what this is all about,” she said.

“About what, Kara?”

“The flattery, the introspection, the moodiness, the books you’re reading. You’re mooning over that goody-two-shoes detective you used to stalk.”

“I wasn’t stalking.” 

“Are you kidding. You followed her everywhere, all the time. When you weren’t too busy with your side job.” Kara laughed lightly. “Saving people. Please! You’re only good at killing them.”

“It’s not a side job. And I wasn’t -- stalking.”

“What would you call it then?” she asked.

“I was just -- trying to protect her. I didn’t want her to be alone.”

“And what a spectacular job you did,” she said.

“Some of that was your doing, Kara.”

Kara thought for a moment. “I should have killed her. But then, I thought she was already dead.”

John inhaled a short breath. “God,” he whispered. “Oh, God.”

Kara continued talking, ignoring him. “I must say, John, you do know how to run an asset. She did everything for you but kill Donnelly. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“She’s -- not an asset.” 

“Sure she is. That’s what you called her. You said she was an asset and the less she knew the safer she’d be. That worked out really well, didn’t it?”

“That’s not what I said, exactly.”

“I have to admit, she’s better at protecting you than you are of protecting her. She destroyed evidence for you. Your fingerprints are no longer in the system. She swapped out your DNA with some other shmo’s. And then, she framed another guy in your place.” 

“You do know how to turn ‘em, John.” 

John checked his rear view mirror, again. Sitting next to Kara was Snow, prissy and self-righteous as always.

“Mark! What are you doing here?”

“I truly do not know. But she’s right. She’s crazy. But she’s always right. You do turn ‘em, John. One word from you and they’d turn in their own mother.” 

Kara laughed a light musical laugh. She turned to Snow. ”I’m crazy? You’re the one that hired me. And look where you are now.” 

Snow continued talking. “You corrupted a good cop, my friend, She’s really hurting. Can’t see how she’s comin’ back from this one. If you hadn’t gotten arrested she might still be a good cop.” 

“I didn’t ask her to. She just -- did it. I only found out through Donnelly, after he arrested us.” 

Kara laughed. “Your little asset told Donnelly you were a good man. Hah!”

“You fooled her”, said Snow. “I tried to warn her. She wouldn’t listen.”

“We know better, don’t we John. You’re not a good man at all,” said Kara. “You’re the kind of thing that keeps good people up at night.”

_____

There was a knock on the window. John was startled and surprised to find himself parked behind the warehouse. It was where he wanted to be, he just didn’t remember getting there. He sat in the car thinking until there was another knock on the window. John opened the car door, got out and closed it absently behind him. All of his movements were fluid, like running water. He looked around him out of habit.

“Hello Adam.”

“Yeah. Hi. What brings you here?” said Adam.

“Just thought I’d stop by. Check on Joan.”

“Yeah. Right. Hey, I finally got a doctor out here.”

“Yes.”

“It’s like you thought. She’s got Alzheimer's -- plus all the other stuff.”

John just nodded.

 

The warehouse, where Joan was living, used to be abandoned. Adam recently purchased it. Besides doing some major repairs and trying to make the place more hospitable for the poor souls who lived there, he also watched out for Joan. It was his way of paying John and his friend back for not only saving his life but for the recent fortune he had acquired.

"Look. I gotta go,” said Adam pulling his coat tightly around him.

“Nice seeing you again, Adam.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Adam waved a hand in the air as he walked toward his car. 

John turned his attention toward the warehouse. The weeds that used to be grass had been cut. Many of the trees that had died had been dug up and replaced. The broken glass and other debris and the garbage had been cleared away. He could smell fresh paint.

_____

Inside the warehouse, Joan was going through her possessions in her shopping cart. She picked up something, looked at it and put it back. John stood near her, but didn’t say anything. He was waiting for her to notice him. Eventually she looked up and smiled.

“Hello, Joan.”

"John!" 

Joan was very fond of John. He was one of the few people who didn't try to take things out of her cart.

John surveyed the surroundings. Bedrolls and blankets were scattered everywhere. Newspapers, paper cups and food littered the cement floor. The other residents who lived there were all dressed in layers and layers of tattered and torn jackets and clothing, like Joan. It was cold, but there weren’t any drafts. John looked up at the windows.

“Mr. Saunders had all of the windows fixed.”

John tilted his head a little. “You mean Adam?” 

“He gets all flustered when I call him Mr..” 

They both smiled. Adam was fun to watch when he was flustered.

“The place looks a lot cleaner than I remember,” John said.

Joan was busy adjusting her jacket and pulling at her sleeves. “Yep. He hired a couple of the folk here to sweep now and then. We have garbage pick-up, now. Once a week.”

John wanted so badly to get her out of the cold, into an apartment or at least a motel. But he knew her paranoia wouldn’t let her go.

“So,” said Joan, “how have your demons been treating you, these days?”

“Excuse me?”

“You have that look, like when you first came here.”

John tilted his head again.

“You talk in your sleep.”

“Oh.”

“So -- what have they been telling you, and do you believe them?” 

John turned away from her and stared at the spot on the cement floor where he spent four months of his life desperate to drink himself to death. Someone else was camped there now. There was no privacy and it was always uncomfortable, but it felt safe to him -- and anonymous. He harmed no one, when he was here. Only himself. When John turned back to answer her, Joan was busy looking through the items in her cart. John added a roll of five and ten dollar bills to her collection of things. She would find them eventually and be delighted. He left Joan to her inventory and slipped away, only looking back once.

The familiar voice in his ear said, “That’s a good question, Mr. Reese.”

John took the ear piece out of his ear and looked at it. He thought of putting it in his pocket. Then he changed his mind and put it back. The truth was he rather liked knowing someone was always there, listening. He told the voice on the other end, “Not now, Finch.”

_____

Back in his car, John thought he might check on his apartment. The one that Finch had given to him as a present for his last birthday. But before doing that, he decided to stop by the park behind it to see if Han was there.

“It’s your fault, you know,” said Snow. “If Carter hadn’t met you, her life would not be in the chaos it is now.”

John didn’t need to look back. He knew Mark and Kara were still there, still sitting in his back seat. Apparently Mark and Kara were going to be with him for awhile. He would rather it was just Kara. 

“It’s not like I planned on being attacked,” said John. “She was just assigned to the case.”

“Sure, John,” said Kara. “But you had to pursue her. Show her what a good guy you are.” Kara laughed again, her light musical laugh. 

“She figured you out.” said Snow. “Saw through you right away. She said out loud what you have known all along. You’ve done so many evil things, you feel like you need to be punished. You should have just let me take you, John, and this would all be over. And Carter. She’d be a lot better off, now, wouldn’t she? 

“If you’re gone,” said Kara, “she has a chance at a normal life. Not like you. There’s no chance for you. There is nothing you can do to change who you are. She’s better off without you. Everyone is.”

John's eyes were misting. It was hard to see. He almost missed the entrance into the parking lot for his apartment and the park.

 

\-----

 

“Hello Han.” 

“John!”

“It’s been awhile.”

John sat at a small cement table across from Han. A Chinese chess board in front of him. Various pieces were in place as if a game were in progress. Other tables and benches around the park were similar, hosting their park dwellers with various games such as chess and xiangqi. It was cold and nearly dusk. The wind blew the leaves in spirals above the grass.

“Are you here to finish our game?”

“Maybe later. But first -- I think I’d like to talk.”

John reached across the table and lightly touched his hand. Han was startled but continued to stare straight ahead. He was wearing layers of clothing, like Joan.

“I don’t know how to start,” said John. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you.”

“Then begin by telling me what you can.”

Han sat with his hands resting on the table. He eyes were fixed straight ahead. Han was patient. A conversation with John was like a reluctant confession. Words had to be pulled from him with thought and attention.

“I hurt someone,” said John.

“Was it a confrontation?”

“No,” said John. “Nothing like that.”

“Your Past. Did it come back for you?”

“Yes.”

John picked up a chess piece off of the board and held it. It was a black soldier, a pawn. He passed it between his palms rhythmically without any thought.

“Ah," said Han, “And this someone, did she become caught between you and your past?”

John’s hands stopped moving. “How did you know?”

Han smiled. “What happened?”

The words of Donnelly came back to John. And the words of Kara. He did not want to remember the litany of felonies Joss had committed for him.

“She helped me. She shouldn’t have, but she did,” said John.

“Was this help a sacrifice?”

John remembered her face at the bridge, after he was released, when Donnelly caught them together and arrested them both. She didn’t even blame him, when in truth, it was all his fault. His eyes were misting, again. He fought it back.

“Yes,” he said.

“An ultimate sacrifice?” 

Images and words flashed through his mind, all crowding for attention. Their arrest and car crash -- and the anguish in the hallway. But it was Kara. Kara who killed Donnelly, almost killed Joss. He took in a breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

“She was almost killed.”

Han nodded. 

There was a silence that rested softly between them. An understanding that filled in the spaces of words left unsaid.

“She cares for you.”

John sat very still. He could smell hyacinths. And fresh, clean laundry. Yet, there were no houses near by. Only the apartment behind them. 

“And you care for her.”

The intimate space between them grew. It was a relaxed quiet.

Finally, Han said, “When those we care about sacrifice for us, they do so because they feel we are worthy. Do you feel worthy of her sacrifice, John?”

John turned his face away from Han, even though he knew Han could not see him. The mist filled his eyes. He fought them back. The daffodils swayed silently in the wind. They were the only flowers in the park.

“Is she intelligent?”

“Yes,” said John.

“And her actions, are they intelligent?”

John hesitated. He knew what his answer meant. 

“Yes,” he said.

“Perhaps the problem is not her sacrifice, but how you feel about it.”

Kara whispered lightly into his ear. “You’re not worthy, John.”

John stood up swiftly and quietly. He excused himself and left. John still had the chess piece in his hand. The cold wind wrapped around him and didn’t let go. It spiraled like the leaves above the grass. 

 

_____

 

John walked around the building next to the park. His footfalls could be heard on the stone path. Behind him, bright orange and red light shot up through the trees. 

Using a keypad at the entrance, John punched in his code. There was a familiar click, click. He opened the glass door and entered the foyer. It was instantly quiet. He took the few steps up to his apartment two at a time. The smell of clean laundry followed him. He unlocked the door and entered, closing and locking the door behind him. His movements, fluid as always.

The apartment looked the same as the last time he was here. It was a beautiful space. But too big. And too bright, even now, as the lights of the city were turning themselves on. The entire back wall was practically floor to ceiling windows. It made him paranoid. He preferred a small, dark space, with his back against a wall, facing the door.

“Be a man, John. Step up. You know it’s the right play.”

Kara and Mark were there with him.

“She’s right. You have everything you need in your left side pocket. Come on, John. It’s easy. You were always good at killing. It’d be poetic.” 

Kara said, “She’s better off without you. Look what you’ve done to her. You’ve turned her into you.”

“No!” John was emphatic. “She’ll never be like me! It's not possible.”

Kara shrugged and put on her most disarming smile.“Make sure of it, then. Make sure she never becomes like you.” 

“Kara’s right. It’s the right play, here. We clean up our own mess, remember.”

John walked over to the desk, by the windows. He took off his coat and draped it over the chair. He was cold. Bone cold. And tired. He had aches and pains in places he didn't remember having aches and pains. The apartment was cold, too. The temperature was set just high enough to keep the pipes from freezing. 

John reached down into his coat pocket and pulled out his gun. He was surprised that he still had the chess piece in his hand. He dropped the soldier into his pocket, in place of his gun. He pulled out the magazine making sure it had a full clip. John slapped the magazine back into place. With a movement borne out of repetition and unavoidable necessity, he pulled back the slide and let it go, sending a cartridge into the chamber. There was a familiar click, click. The safety was on.

"Mr. Reese?"

"Yes, Finch?"

"What's happening?"

"Nothing, Harold."

John pulled out the chair from under the desk. His coat fell to the floor. He sat down and put his feet up. Kara sat on the desk near him. For a long time he looked at the gun he held in his left hand. He used this one the most. John was almost sentimental about it. It was a SIG-Sauer P226R. The first gun he took off of Anton and his friends. He'd shot them all in the knee with it. John smiled. Now that was poetic. He took off the safety.

Kara whispered softly and lovingly into to his ear. “It’s the right play here, John. It’s the best thing for her. It's the best thing for..."

Before Kara could finish what she had to say, there was a knock on the door. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s your favorite reporter, Maxine. Remember me?”

John put the safety back on his gun and got up. He wasn't expecting company. John picked up his coat from off the floor and slipped his gun back into his coat pocket. He draped his coat over the desk chair once more. All of this was done without stopping or pausing as if it were a single motion.

“Be right there.”

In a few quick strides, John was behind the door. He opened it slowly, only a few inches, just in case an unwelcome weapon should try to enter. The irony of his actions now and a few minutes earlier passed him by.

“Hello. Is anybody there?"

John opened the door wider. He now stood in front of his favorite reporter.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to be here. I’m glad I finally found you.

“What are you doing here?” said John.

“Gee. I was hoping for a more receptive response.”

“Oh. Sorry,” said John, “Come in. How can I help you?”

Maxine walked into the apartment with an easy grace. John trailed behind her. She was used to having male eyes upon her and was certain of the effect she had on him. Maxine looked around the apartment. 

"It's a little dark in here, isn't it?

"I guess I should fix that."

John tuned on a few lights in the kitchen and over the dinning table, from a switch by the door. He walked over to a night stand near the bed and turned on a light there also. When he turned around, he almost bumped into her. She had followed him.

"Oh. Excuse me," she said, and backed up a little. 

With a delightful little grin, Maxine unbuttoned her coat, slowly and let it fall gracefully off of her shoulders and onto the floor. It was a practiced gesture. With as much grace as she entered the room, Maxine sat on the bed and leaned back on her arms, allowing John a full view of some of her charms.

“I was giving our last meeting a little thought,” she said, “and I was hoping that you were over Zoe Morgan by now.”

John just looked at her.

“Wow. This is really awkward. Usually my meaning is very clear." Maxine sat up. "Ah. I was hoping to spend some time with you. You know, alone.”

“I think she’s making a pass at you, Mr. Reese," whispered the familiar voice in his ear.

“I know,” said John, under his breath.

Maxine stood up abruptly. “You’re married, aren’t you? I knew it. You were too good to be true.”

John looked puzzled. “ No. No, I’m not married.”

“Girlfriend, then.”

“No. No girlfriend, either.”

“Gay?”

“What? No. No entanglements of any kind.”

John stood quietly beside Maxine. Her hair was wind-blown nicely. It gave her a careless, suggestive appearance. Quite charming, actually. She smelled clean -- like linen, just out of the dryer, and -- something else. He looked down at her beautiful face. She was so upset -- and embarrassed. It was very becoming on her. He wanted to comfort her somehow. He could see she was cold. She had goosebumps on her arms. With a grace of his own, he took off his suit jacket and placed it around her shoulders. She closed it gratefully around her with her hands. He slipped his left arm across her back and encouraged her to sit down next to him on his bed.

“Look. Maxine. You’re beautiful and I like you, a great deal. I just can’t be involved emotionally with anyone right now. I simply -- I don’t have it in me. I --- can’t.”

Maxine looked up at John thoughtfully. She stared into his eyes and searched his face for some kind of clue. She was trying to determine just how truthful he was. After a long few minutes, she said, “I believe you, John.” She paused before continuing. “I think I just might understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes. And I wonder if you would allow me to give you something -- a small gift?”

“No Maxine. That’s not ...”

She placed her fingertips over his lips to stop him from speaking. Then she caressed his cheek with the palm of her hand. The same way Kara did, the last time he saw her. The thought made him ache.

“A long time ago, someone gave me this -- gift. I merely wish to pass it on to you.”

John had no words to give her. He simply sat next to her.

Maxine picked up her coat from off the floor. She pulled out a small notebook and a pen from her coat pocket. She wrote something in the notebook, tore out the page and folded the page in half. With a small flourish, she handed to him, the folded piece of paper. When John went to open it, she placed her hand on his to stop him.

“After I leave,” she said.

"Okay."

“I can show myself out.”

Maxine gathered her coat, her notebook and pen and found her way back to his door. Before she left, she said, “Good luck, John. When you’re feeling better, call me.” Then, like an imaginary friend, she was gone.

John looked at the folded paper in his hand. He could not imagine what was inside. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He turned it over and back, again and again. After awhile, he opened it carefully, like the gift it was. 

The handwriting was beautiful. More masculine in style, like Finch’s, but lovely to took at all the same and easily read. The words that were written inside caught his breath. He was stunned. 

“Live for today. Just for today.  
When you do, read this again tomorrow.”

A flood of emotion filled him. It took everything he had to hold it back. He read the words that Maxine had written over and over again. And for once, since the moment he met her, the voice of Kara Stanton inside his head was silent.

As he sat on his bed, in the dim light, trying to make sense of what happened, John recognized a fragrance he had smelled in the park. But where was it coming from? 

John looked down at the paper in his hand. He brought it up to his face and smelled it. It came from the paper that Maxine had written. Hyacinths. That's what she smelled like when he held her. Fresh linen and hyacinths. 

"This is going to be a problem," he said out loud.

“Mr. Reese?” said the familiar voice in his ear. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Finch. -- I’m fine.”

"What's going to be a problem?"

"Maxine."

“Well, that will have to wait. We have a new number. I’m sending you an address."


End file.
